


Saint Valentine

by Cowardlykatz



Category: Diablo III
Genre: Happy Valentines Day!, I typed this during work and listening to the new tame impala album, Not Beta Read, Other, Sweet Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowardlykatz/pseuds/Cowardlykatz
Summary: Lorath takes a silent step forwards, careful to not disturb the gossiping ladies. His eyes trail to where the Nephilim was standing. They stood on the portal, arms crossed over their chest as the Enchantress glides a hand to their side. Blood soaks through the chainlink and cloth. Lorath feels a pang in his chest. Jealousy?
Relationships: Lorath Nahr/Nephilim, Lorath Nahr/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Saint Valentine

Lorath Nahr.

Survivor of the reformed Horadrim. A title he wears on both sleeve and heart. Pride wells up when a mere peasant speaks highly of the Horadric Order, almost as high as the very saints who wander in Cathedral halls, heads bowed. Lorath keeps his head held high, enough to imagine the beauty of the High Heavens. He remembers fondly of the imagery that falls out of the follower's mouths, but they soon close shut at how that beauty was washed and ran cold upon first visit. 

The hero, however, has seen the repairs first hand and allows Lorath to ask as many questions. Although his mind runs rampant and words stumble out like a bumbling fool, the hero answers nonetheless and even brought back sacred scrolls. Scrolls that haven't been opened for a millennia. He touches the individual fibers of the paper with great care, a thought continues to pester his ever questioning mind. . .would this be considered a heart-felt gift?

Lorath has only heard stories, rumors, and meaningless gossip about the Nephilim. He's. . .tried to converse with them when they arrive back from missions and the endless runs into the Rifts. Instead, the Nephilim asks Lorath about his life. His family. His dreams. His wishes. He doesn't mind it at all, but he does admit it gets frustrating to not know a single thing about them. Who are they? What was their family life like? Or for High Heaven's sake what is their name? 

"They never take off that helmet, I wonder if they're cute?" "Hush, Josie, they're right there." "Right right." Two younger ladies had rounded the corner of the Westmarch gardens, holding weaved baskets filled to the brim with green vegetables. 

Lorath had been wandering the gardens as thoughts of the Nephilim plagued his mind, forcing his legs to move instead of tapping the cobblestone feverishly. He'd hoped he would get some time to call him racing heart, but hearing the ladies talk about the masked stranger made his heart jump. He held his breath, eyes darting up, but. . .relaxed quite immediately. The girls were not looking at him.

"The Nephilim." The young lady with curly red hair sighs, leaning against the moss covered column, the basket leaning against her hip. 

"Auntie Yennifer told me that Henry tried offering them a rose this morning. She said that the Nephilim shot him down." The other one with blonde hair wrapped in a twisted braid snickers, but watches the hero like a fox finding its next meal. 

Lorath takes a silent step forwards, careful to not disturb the gossiping ladies. His eyes trail to where the Nephilim was standing. They stood on the portal, arms crossed over their chest as the Enchantress glides a hand to their side. Blood soaks through the chainlink and cloth. Lorath feels a pang in his chest. Jealousy? 

The redhead gasps and throws a freehand up to her mouth, "Oh poor thing! If I was there I would spoil them to death and treat them right."

The other girl snorts, which earned a glare from the redhead. Instead of bickering further the two walk off not speaking to each other. 

Lorath waits a moment, releasing a breath of air he didn't realize he was holding. His hand had clenched hard enough to turn his clothed knuckles white. His feet moved instinctively, moving to the opening into the main garden where the girls were standing. 

The cat got his tongue.

There in the middle of the garden, the Nephilim had removed their helmet. It was true what the ladies had said. It was very rare for them to remove it. However, it's not odd. Lorath has never removed his own coverings in fear of turning his head to the burning legions of hell. A childish thought that his father had managed to make him believe even into adulthood. He more so fears the idea of the Nephilim seeing his face a bright shade of red. 

The hero turns their head towards Lorath and  smiles.  It reaches their eyes, a smile that they haven't felt in many years. Lorath can feel the blood in his veins burn. There's a voice in his head, it's taunting him. To act upon. . .unholy desires. Lorath has never once stepped into a church and felt welcomed, but he does follow very closely to the Templar Order and finds such thoughts to be sinful to an extent. He has maybe. . .once or twice thought of stealing the hero away for a night, to feel rough skin against his own - oh. The hero is walking towards him. He gulps, but his throat feels dry. Is this what it's like to have a shameful crush on someone you cannot touch? 

The two stare at each in silence. It's comforting. No prying eyes in sight. The gardens quiet this early in the evening, save for the chirping of a fade-touched bird starved of food. Westmarch is beautifully grotesque. It's rare for a night like this one to be rid of foreboding clouds, finally revealing a battle scarred disc in the night sky. 

The Nephilim holds Lorath's hand gingerly, the other lightly placing a golden locket in his opened palm. It's face is engraved in a long forgotten language, it goes around the entire face in cursive writing. It feels and breathes Angel, it calls to Lorath and digs a deadly finger deep into his beating heart. Reaching a hand up to his own face he pulls the cloth covering half of his face down. Autonomy had failed Lorath. The universe pulls him into the hero's orbit and he wishes his eyes would stay open long enough to stare into eyes that used to never reach his own.

Lust isn't such a bad sin after all. Maybe the Gods be forgiving, for he will forever indulge himself a bite or two of the sweet after taste for years to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> :o) I said I was gonna write one. Also someone kill me I am bored at work and would love to go home now.


End file.
